Howling like scorned wolves buried in the dead
of a winter’s night, cold arctic hallowing calls.
Feeding upon nature’s gifts, abundant only while
eyes allow our hearts to understand our worth
swept apart by God’s mighty hand of decision
we beckon to the call of our own shallow vanity.
Listen to the wind share melodic tones sweeping
through the pines and thistle bound forests
whose world remains quiet to our own needs,
only to become vibrant soon after we step away.
We hear chants as our toes and heels crush the ice
Of roadway freeze, wondering aloud our distant lives
if ever there were an opportunity to understand Her
natural hold on our lives, well beyond the conversation.